Taylor Wiggin
by Nihil Asara
Summary: Ender Wiggin takes over Taylor's body. Stuff happens.
1. Chapter 1

I don't own... anything you recognize in this fanfic. Possible Multicross. Some inspiration drawn from the excellent fanfic "Memories of Luthor." The beginning starts off in the world of Ender's Game, but it doesn't stay there long.

C1.1: Ender Wiggin.

The universe was screaming, or so it felt to me. I ripped off my headset, falling to my knees as my head throbbed from the pain, but the screaming continued. My friends, my soldiers, the many observers, all rejoiced as the planet in the simulation exploded outwards, swallowing ever nearby ship, formic and human alike. It felt longer, but only a few seconds passed before the screaming stopped. In its wake came a deafening space-like silence. Everyone around me was still talking and shouting but I could hear none of it, head still pounding from that boundless trillion-throated scream. Mazer Rackham was approaching to congratulate me and tell me the ultimate secret, but I already knew. Perhaps on some level I'd known from the start. The simulation wasn't a simulation at all. It was all real.

I should have seen it before. I hadn't slept properly in months, maybe years, but I should have seen it. What was the point of such an incredibly detailed simulation when it didn't program for light speed lag in communication unless humanity had already discovered the technology for faster-than-light communications? From there it would have been simplicity itself to network real ships to the simulation and turn child's play into genocide. I'd thought I'd beat my teachers, my jailors at last, finally conquered their final unfair test for me, but in reality thousands of men had died on that suicidal run against the Formic planet on my command. And with them, the last of a sentient, sapient species had been eradicated. Would I have still made the command if I'd known that it would end like this, my purpose in defending Earth against the alien menace at last realized? No, never.

There was a connection between me and the Formics, the depth of which I could only fathom now that it was gone. Now that _they_ were gone. I couldn't say scientifically how such a connection was possible but it made too much sense to be false. The dreams hadn't been born from stress, they'd come from the connection I shared with the Formic queens. It explained other things too. Over the years I'd known Bean, I'd come to realize that at least in some ways the boy was smarter than I was, that he was possibly the smartest human ever born. But despite his intelligence or perhaps because of it there was so much about the Formics that he didn't understand. He could see their formations, their tactics and strategies, but he couldn't grasp their emotions. But I could. And that was how I was the only human that knew they'd surrendered.

I'd rationalized it away. Assumed that the computers couldn't handle billions of ships all at once and that was the reason they weren't attacking, but the truth was that humanity's fearsome enemy had already given up. Peace had been possible, I was sure of it, if only their had been some shared language, a shared symbolism of a white flag. How much bloodshed had been caused by simple misunderstanding? Hit was likely they hadn't even thought us sentient at first, blind and deaf to their telepathy as the human race was. I had unknowingly opened my mind up to them in a struggle to understand their alien minds, but even so had only caught the barest glimmer of their desperate entreaties.

There was no one in all of history with as much blood on their hands as I. Trillions of lives extinguished, of an enemy that had already surrendered. All that they were, all that their civilization could have been, wiped out by that final bomb on my orders. Hiroshima paled in comparison.

I was the only one that had glimpsed their minds, the only one that might have brokered a peace between our species, and I'd destroyed them in a fit of pique. But I was always a killer, wasn't I. Bonzo and Stilson, I'd been told they lived, but I couldn't hide from the truth any longer. After watching so many military vids I was too familiar with the look on their faces to continue lying to myself. I'd killed them. Children, just misguided children, and I'd killed them. Physically I was a child as well, but that was no excuse. With the exception of Bean and my siblings, I was smarter than anyone I'd ever met. I could have found another way to deal them if I'd wanted to, found a way to stop them that didn't involve violence, but I hadn't. I was a monster, worse than Peter could ever hope to be.

_It would have been better if I'd never been born._

I gripped at the floor as the room started to shake. I was the only one that seemed to notice as the world shook the pieces and my vision went black. Soon my vision came back, but not as before. I was bodiless, but my sight was limitless as I flew past entire galaxies, universes. Had I died? I hadn't felt myself die, hadn't felt my heart stop or my lungs cease to take breath. No, it was more as if the universe itself had acted to purge itself of a corrupt soul.


	2. Chapter 2

C1.2 Start

I barely had time to wonder if I'd continue to journey through the multiverse endlessly before suddenly I slammed into a body. It wasn't my own, but I couldn't tell much more than that. I was cramped inside a small, upright metal box with only a few small slats of light towards the top. I was used to small rooms from living in space, but this was ridiculous. Even worse than the coffin-like enclosure was its contents. Flies flitted around my face as maggots and other crawling things climbed my bare legs. There were a number of sodden objects down there as well, but there wasn't enough room to bend over and investigate them. Not that I particularly wanted to. The touch of them on my legs made my skin crawl, and the smell coming off them was magnitudes worse than anything I'd previously encountered.

Despite never being religious, for a moment I thought that I'd been placed in my own personal hell, but laughter soon convinced me otherwise. Peering through the slits my eyes adjusted to reveal a gaggle of teenagers. Was I in a locker, in a school no less? Had I traveled so far only to return to where I was so many years ago? No, there was something strange about this Earth school. I was far from an expert on fashion but everything they were wearing was hopelessly retro. Their phones looked like something out of the stone age. Their speech was likewise archaic, some form of American English rather than I.F. Common. I had somehow traveled back in time, or perhaps to a parallel dimension with lower standards.

They were laughing at me, weren't they. Or rather, laughing at whoever it was they'd stuffed in this locker before I'd come to be in their body. I couldn't feel a hint of the previous owner's consciousness within my mind, something I would have felt grief for had I any emotion left to spare for tragedy.

It had been a long time since I'd been laughed at. It was disagreeable as it had been when I was younger. I stared out through the slits at the crowd, memorizing their faces as I contemplated my situation. I had little doubt that it was a more than fair punishment for my crimes, but nonetheless I found myself discontent. I deserved to stay in the bug and rot-filled prison until I died, but while I had the power to escape I realized I could not bring myself to remain imprisoned.

What was it drove me? The bugs and stink were quite unpleasant, but I had long grown used to ignoring my body's needs and pains. Was it instead altruism, an attempt to safeguard the body I'd taken possession of until the true owner could return? No, I suspected it was something more selfish, something I'd carried with me all my life – an instinct to survive. I'd lost joy in life itself long ago, and now I lacked even the hollow consolation that I survived so that the human race might survive. But even so, something within me refused to die.

I rapped at the door. Predictably, none of the crowd outside came to help. Some even left the area with a smile and a laugh, continuing on with their lives without a qualm. Judging by the backpacks they were leaving the day, not a class period. Could they truly be planning to leave me here overnight? Savages. All savages. I'd stained my soul in Formic blood, all to save a species that I wasn't sure I even liked.

No matter, I didn't expect them to free me. Help was a dream, a fantasy for someone like me. Ever since I had gone to space and left Valentine behind there was only me, one way or another. I knocked again on the door, ignoring now the jokes and laughter from outside. For the moment there was only the door and I, and steadily I spread out my knocks, testing along its surface. I blocked out the sound of the buzzing flies as I listened with ears and fingertips to how the metal sang. After plotting out the path of entire fleets, mapping the stress points of a simple metal door was child's play. And so, after finding the weak points, the points where the door vibrated and where it held fast, I made my move. There wasn't much space, but there was enough. Three hits was the key, all in swift succession. Each was perfectly timed and perfectly timed to create a shock wave that hit precisely where I wanted it to. Every couple seconds I would repeat the trio of hits, listening intently to the rattle of screws and the creak of metal so as to properly adjust my hits.

At last the upper hinge came free. A glimmer of light flared through the space that opened between the door and the locker, but I refrained from pushing on the door. Judging by the strength of my new body I could bend the upper section of the door outwards perhaps three inches. It would offer a precious breath of fresh air, but the warped metal would likely make it harder to break the bottom hinge.

The laughter had stopped, caution pressing me to look out at the crowd once more. I noted a tall, muscular black girl approaching from the crowd and decided I had best work quickly. Breaking the door would mean little if they held it tight against me.

Four hits this time to achieve the proper resonance. A kick formed the fourth hit, doing much of the work. It was tiring to achieve the proper force thanks to the sodden litter cluttering the path of my kick, but I forced my body past its limits. I was out of time. The hinge hadn't given yet, but hopefully I'd weakened it enough to count. I shoved outwards at the top of the door, shoving again as it bent and my leverage increased. The third shove gave me my freedom, hinge giving way with an ear-rending shriek of twisted metal.

I stumbled into the hallway on unfamiliar legs, falling stiffly to one knee. A fair bit of debris had come with me, blood-soaked bandages of unusual construction thumping wetly against the floor. I grimaced at the potential for infection as I noticed several thin cuts along my legs. I shrugged it off, there were more immediate enemies at hand than disease. I noticed as I stood that I was wearing a skirt and pink and white sneakers. A crossdresser? Was that why they had assaulted this person I now inhabited? Such a cruel punishment for such a harmless act.

I gripped the dislodged locker door as the black girl continued her approach, two very white girls filing beside her. Looking at the crowd, the racial disparity was curious in itself. On my own Earth, ancestry tended to be far more muddled. Again, a question for another time.

The redhead spoke first. "Was that fun for you Taylor? You got to meet your relatives, the maggots."

No remorse, no pity. She was Peter, but less smart. Peter recognized predators. _Taylor. Not a bad name. _Anything was better than Ender. I had no wish to end anything ever again.

The black girl spoke next. "You should have stayed in there, maggot. The world would be better if you just died." She stepped forward, hand rising to shove me back into the filthy confines of the locker.

I swung the detached door without telegraphing the movement, sending it diagonally upwards to keep her eyes from fixing on it as long as possible. The sharp, rusted edge sliced across her throat, and for just a moment it seemed like she turned to smoke. Then she fell, clutching her bleeding neck as her eyes went wild. Moments later she fell unconscious and the other two girls began to scream. My improvised weapon fell from my lifeless hand as I stared at injured girl in horror.

_No! I didn't want this!_ My voice screamed loud and thunderous in my mind. I wanted to give up the name Ender, but it was more than a name. It was a part of me, a stain that I could never rub out. I'd only been in this world a few minutes and already I'd started killing, killing children. Kids grew up fast in space, but by Earth standards there was no way the teenager bleeding out was a legal adult. Ender the Genocide had snuffed out another life before its time.

_I refuse to let it end like this._ So much of my life had been out of my control, but I'd been given a new life. There was still time to change the outcome of this story. Judging by her body size and the rate of blood flow from the wound she had less than seven minutes to live. She could likely be resuscitated for a few minutes after that, but much past seven minutes and the growing oxygen deprivation in her brain would leave her a vegetable.

I searched rapidly for some clean fabric to staunch the wound. My own clothes were out of the question given that I was currently a walking biohazard. Medical-grade gauze was predictably nowhere in sight, so I settled on the fifth best thing. The curvy redhead had a thin and weak-stitched blouse that could potentially serve my purposes. Not trusting her to act in a timely manner I instead took action and ripped the shirt off her with a swift, sharp tug.

Pressing the improvised purple bandage to the wound I glanced upwards at the still shocked crowd. "What are you waiting for? Call an ambulance already."

C1.2 End.

Unexpected?


	3. Chapter 3

So... this is sorta like... Ender's Game feels without the kid filter? Gets a little dark from here on out... so... if you're not prepared for that I would suggest reading with blinders on. I'm 90% sure the bad stuff is only on the left and right hand sides of the page.

C1.3 Start

My voice was scratchy and raw, as if I'd shouted myself horse _– _or screamed, as the case might be. Still, it seemed to get the message across. At least one had gotten through to 911 by the time the school nurse arrived, bustling me out of the way. I let her take over, though I wasn't sure what she thought to do beyond what I was already doing. The girl stitches, possibly surgery, and a blood transfusion; none of which, as I recalled, were available at civilian schools as this school appeared to be.

As I backed away my eyes caught for a moment on the redhead. For just a moment my eyes drank in her topless form, heart speeding up as blood rushed to my cheeks, then I turned away. _'Infatuation? Lust?'_ I was familiar with neither emotion during my twelve-year-old existence thus far. I'd never had the time or opportunity to even consider such things, tasked as I was with preparing for the final confrontation with the Formics. I supposed it was natural that I feel such a thing now, given that I now possessed a body in its mid-teens. All in all the sensation was ephemeral and pale, a weak competitor against the oceanic depths of my sorrow and guilt.

It was possible that I wasn't a teenager, though considering my environs it was the most plausible assumption. I had yet to actually see anything of my body besides the hands and calves. I could tell without looking that I was taller (but as a former twelve-year-old that was practically a given) and very thin, but not much beyond that. My attention was more on ignoring various aches and pains than investigation.

I scanned over the crowd, noting that for now at least all their eyes were on the injured girl rather than myself. It would be easy enough to just slip away and make my escape. But where would I go? I knew nothing of this world. Perhaps more important were the moral and legal implications. I'd very nearly killed the girl. The right thing to do would be to stand and take my punishment. But while I was at fault, was I the only one? The things these supposed rational beings had done to another human... stuffing them inside the living hell of that locker, it was unforgivable. If the victim's soul had fled this body to avoid further suffering, leaving it open for me to take, didn't I owe them vengeance?

It would wait. I would stay in the school until the police arrived, I decided, but I wouldn't stay here. After the excessive cleanliness of space, standing in place while covered in filth and maggots was testing my willpower. The cuts needed tending as well, most of which I was certain had been incurred before my arrival. There was nothing that would help my numerous bruises save time, but if I located the vacated nurse's office I could clean and disinfect the cuts. That would be the smartest option, though my preference at the moment was a hot shower.

I slipped idly around a corner, not particularly hurried. Most of the students had already left for the day, but the few that remained tracked a wide path around me. I was curious how this would all play out. So many variables and so little data to work from. Leaving the scene could impact my case with the police, but I was prepared to chance it. If they were just they would understand my desire to get cleaned off. If they weren't then at least I would know what type of world this was.

I found the lockers before the nurse's office. Slipping inside I skipped past the sinks and went straight towards the showers. I turned the knob and watched in anticipation as water streamed out. A few moments later steam began to billow upwards like a siren call. Testing it with one hand I lowered the temp until it was just below scalding and jumped under its spray fully clothed.

The heat was glorious. The water stung my cuts and my bruises burned from the heat, but there was something freeing about it. A shower was such a simplistic balm, but I could feel it wearing away at the weight on my shoulders. Eyes closed against the world I rinsed my surprisingly long hair, budding migraine now fading away. I slipped out of my sneakers and socks, a sense of freedom flourishing as I did so. I shimmied out of the skirt moments later with the shirt following right behind. For a time I stood still, barely breathing as the water covered my form. For a moment my crimes faded into the background and I took comfort in an eternal moment.

Then looked down. _'I'm a girl.' _Not a particularly feminine one and skinnier than was healthy, but definite a girl. In hindsight I should have guessed as much, but the oversight was understandable given all that I'd had on my mind. I wasn't particularly bothered by the revelation. It was a small thing to worry about, and as an escape from my past life I was prepared to accept far worse accommodations.

After so much time spent in the nude at Battle School I wasn't particularly concerned with modesty, and so was swift to divest myself of my remaining undergarments in my quest to get clean. Pleased to be free of the sodden cotton I titled my head back, water brushing past my cheeks. I struggled to regain that calm, that stillness of mind and body where my past and the world around me faded away. Then I heard it.

Great thumping steps, like the minotaur through its labyrinth. Turning with a grimace revealed a muscle-bound mustached teen not far off from my minotaur guess. It would have been nice to go unaccosted, but it figured my luck would be so poor. To me personally the switch from male to female did not seem particularly important at first glance, but that didn't mean the rest of the world disagreed. I'd entered the wrong locker room, and this fool seemed intent on making me regret that mistake. There was a most foul lust on his face as he sized me up from the other end of the open shower room.

"You're that Taylor girl, aint'cha." He smiled. "My girl told me all about'cha. Said you're uppity. A good for nothing that doesn't know her place. That true girl? Need someone to show you your place?"

I said nothing, casually lathering my arms before bending towards my discarded shoe. I watched warily as he took a step forward and undid the zipper on his pants. I kept up my work as he approached. With long, deft fingers I teased out the shoelace until it came loose – and just in time. I spun as he lunged for me, a sweeping kick to his ankle sending him sliding on the water-slicked floor. Thanks to my new body the aim was off a bit, but it was close enough to count. His head hit the wall, but his skull was too thick for that to do more than daze him. Taking advantage of the opportunity I sent a knee into his back, forcing him fully to the ground. Sliding the shoelace around his neck I pulled it tight to form an improvised garrote. His arms flailed as he sought to grab me, only managing it once and only for a moment before sliding off my soap-lathered forearms.

I eased off the pressure as he fell unconscious, but didn't release my grip on the shoelace. My moist skin began to cool as my mind spun. How strange it was that all this should happen. First the bullies and then the shower-room brawl, like some twisted reflection of my first life. There were differences though. Stilson had been violent but still very young, lacking in the sadistic cruelty I'd seen in the black girl. Likewise, Bonzo had been a misguided and honor-obsessed fool left far too long without intervention, but he wasn't a rapist. I'd tried to save the girl after slicing her throat out of some vain attempt to keep this life from mirroring my last, but did this boy deserve such mercy? Bonzo merited psychological help, not death, but this boy? More beast than human in my eyes.

Despite my opinion of him, I really didn't want to kill him. I was already drowning in blood, I had no wish to add more. But there was something else at play here beyond my own feelings. I pulled again at the shoestring before wavering. Slipping the string loose I took hold of his arm and forcefully tugged him onto his back, out-of-shape and tired muscles burning from the strain. Conveniently his genitalia had slipped free from his open draw during the scuffle. Touching it as little as possible I tied the shoestring in place around, knotting it firmly many times over to stop all blood flow and to prevent it from being untied. In a few minutes the makeshift castration would be irreversible. It was really the only responsible thing to do besides kill him. The next girl might not have defended herself as well as I did. Besides, there were already too many beasts on this world I'd fallen into to just let them breed freely.

C1.3 End


	4. Chapter 4

So... not sure what the PRT uniform looks like so I've decided to Word of God it.

C1.4 Start.

I left the shower room without looking back. I shivered lightly from cold or spent adrenaline, I couldn't say which. Part of me, that part that had never stopped loving Valentine and Earth, recoiled in shock at what I'd just done. The rest of me was just glad it was over and done with. The threat had been ended, the boy wouldn't come after me like that again.

I paused at the sinks, deciding a good scrub was in order. I rinsed the suds off my arms and did my best to scrub the lingering feeling of what I'd just done from my hands. Eventually I looked up, gazing at myself in the mirror as the water continued to run. _'So this is me now.' _It was a strange thing to look in a mirror and see a face not my own, but it wasn't the first time. At least I wasn't seeing Peter's dead eyes staring back at me.

I was definitely at least a couple years older, perhaps more. My new face was too severe to pretty, but it wasn't exactly plain either. The girl had likely been bullied for a long while, judging by her condition. Her cheeks were moderately wide, but there wasn't an ounce of fat on them. Like some half-starved supermodel her cheekbones stuck out far too prominently, her wide brown eyes sunken and bruised from lack of sleep. Her dark hair seemed the only thing she had kept good care of. It's lustrous length hung down past my bare shoulders, reminding me that the rest of me was bare as well. I'd indulged curiosity long enough, it was time to go. First, however, I had to find something to cover myself with. The blood- and grime-soaked clothes I'd worn in were an absolute last resort.

I glanced down the row of lockers as I left the sinks. It was irrational, but after my recent imprisonment in a locker I felt a touch of apprehension at going near them. Added to that was the risk of having another man enter the locker room and accost me. Was it really worth the risk to search around for something to wear? No, I decided, it really wasn't. So far I had yet to meet a nice person in this world, and with such a weak body there was no guarantee I'd win against my next attacker. It was better to leave now while I was still able to. Besides, the women's lockers were just next door, and I'd probably have better luck finding clothes that fit there anyways.

I opened the door a crack, listening for anyone out in the hallway. Nothing. I stepped out, sunlight warm against my skin. _'How long as it been since I felt real sunlight?' _The days had blended together towards the end. Stuck inside an asteroid with no view of sun or sky, forced to direct armies for hours on end before catching a quick nap only to go into battle yet again... what I wouldn't have given to experience this simple pleasure. But alas, I couldn't linger. Leaving the sunlight behind I made my way towards the women's locker room, stumbling slightly as a leg threatened to give out. I clasped the door handle gratefully for balance before swinging it open.

There was a surprise inside. "Hello there officers. I suppose you're looking for me?"

Considering I'd given up peacefully they'd gone about subduing me a little more roughly than I felt was necessary. I'd had to hold myself back from breaking the Irishman's trachea when he got a little handsy. After that came the walk of shame as they half dragged, half walked me down the hallway. My left leg had given out entirely by this point, willpower no longer enough to move its exhausted muscles and bruised bones. All in all I was sure I was a pretty pitiful sight.

Thankfully just before I got pulled out in front of the reporters in front of the school a gray-haired detective tossed his trench coat over my shoulders. I wanted to believe that meant there was at least one kind-hearted soul in this world I'd fallen into, but I couldn't be sure whether he did it out of kindness or to avoid repercussions from dragging a nude minor in front of the press. Either way, I found the trench to be rather drafty and uncomfortably rough. I hoped prison clothes would be more comfortable.

As I got stuffed into a cop car I noticed the black girl being carted into an ambulance. A sudden wave of hate swept through me, the force of it leaving me shaking. '_Strange.'_ I wasn't prone to hate. Sometimes I actually wished I could hate more, but hate was born from ignorance. I understood the world and its people too well to ever feel much hate for anyone or anything, save perhaps myself. Setting the issue aside I examined my surroundings carefully. Much as I disliked it, I was what the military had shaped me to be. Submission simply wasn't my forte.

I didn't truly intend or want to escape, or at least not until I discovered how this would all play out. Nonetheless, plans began spinning out, growing more and more detailed. Very few of them had a high chance of working, but the exercise helped stave off boredom as I waited for the officers to drive me to the station. I would have had a lot better chances of escaping if not for the bum leg, or known more about the world around me. Without more information there was no way of telling whether I had traveled back in time (in which case I could probably hotwire the car given a little experimentation) or whether I was in a parallel dimension that was in the middle of a retro movement. I hoped it was some form of the latter. I had no wish to be press-ganged into another war with the Formics.

My eyes widened as I caught sight of an argument between the cops and several men all in curious red and white body armor. A stylized shield was printed on their left shoulders. The slight differences between them probably denoted rank, or possibly their function in the organization. The rifles on their backs suggested they were military of some sort, but I didn't recognize the uniform. Admittedly I wasn't a historian, but it was still a point in favor of the parallel dimension theory.

The cops didn't look happy, which suggested they were losing the argument. A couple minutes later after both groups had called in their superiors it came to a head, one disgruntled cop leading the funny-colored swat team my direction. Did someone out there really think one girl was too much for the cops to handle? Hell, for all I knew they were some sort of dimensional breach investigators. I put on my best smile as the cop opened the door.

"Get up."

Calmly I obeyed, moving carefully to keep from stressing my leg.

"Get out of the fucking car."

Once again I was manhandled, his hand tight enough on my arm to bruise as he swung me around to face the shield group. I would have fallen when he released me had one of the shield group not moved to hold me in place. Their leader's mouth was set in a tight line but they said nothing about the unnecessary force as they went about their business. A much stronger and flashier set of manacles was placed on my arms before the cop removed the original handcuffs. _'Do they think I'm some sort of gorilla?'_

The restraints were well beyond overkill. My chances of escape if I felt the need had just dimmed considerably. Not only was it impossible to slip out of them or break them with implements commonly found in a tool shed, they were heavy enough that even my good leg was having trouble supporting me. The blinking light suggested some sort of tracking device thrown in as well. Was it possible the girl whose body I'd taken was some sort of Russian spy?

End 1.4

So... fairly sure now that I'll be fusing the Wormverse with Marvel and DC (pls no sue-me) to a small degree (60%/10/30). This means I'll probably be nerfing the Entities slightly (though possibly more villainous). Won't be any Earth Aleph or doorways to other dimensions. Cauldron will probably exist, but not in the same way. Contessa will either be nerfed or mysteriously implode through Diabolus ex Machina because honestly, she's complete bull&%#$.


	5. Chapter 5

Start 1.5

Judging from the markings on the van they brought me to, PRT appeared to be the acronym for the overly security-conscious group. Protection Response Team was my best guess as to what it stood for, but it was just a shot in the dark. I did have to wonder if the 'P' stood for paranoid after I was introduced to the rest of their arrest procedure.

As soon as they left the public eye they switched their face shields from translucent to opaque. Thus I was treated to two sex-indeterminate robots (or so they appeared) foaming my feet to the ground. Whatever the material was, it hardened in seconds to a taffy-like consistency with very little give. My manacles were then clamped magnetically to the wall of the van behind my bench-seat, leaving me barely enough freedom of movement to even wiggle. As if that wasn't enough, they threw in a heavy titanium seat belt. I wasn't even sure I could lift it in my present condition, let alone break it.

All in all, while they were certainly far more professional than the cops in this area, I would have rather stayed with my original captors. "So," I said, trying to be casual. "None of this seems at all excessive to you?" No response. "What are you even charging me with?" They didn't even turn their heads. Noting that their masks stretched around their whole heads I decided to play on a hunch. I waited about thirty seconds for them to let down their guard, then shouted as loud as I could. "CAN YOU HEAR ME!" Damn, not even a flinch from them and I felt childish to boot. The helmets definitely had some degree of noise canceling. They probably hadn't heard a word I said since flipping them into privacy mode.

I sighed, wishing I could at least scratch my nose. Perhaps I'd made a mistake in not running away as fast as I could. I hadn't expected such a totalitarian response. Railroading maybe, an incompetent or corrupt lawyer, but an uptight government agency in red and white taking me prisoner was a bit out there. Would I even get a trial, or would they stuff me away in some dark prison? For all I knew that girl I'd sent to the hospital was the president's daughter.

The restraints bothered me more than expected. There was an unreasoning fear and anxiety bubbling inside me. Flashbacks fluttered at the edges of my mind of Peter suffocating me, of the locker, of that savage looming over me in the showers before I made my move... Most of the time during the endless 'games' I'd just felt numb, as if my humanity was ebbing away with each day, with each supposed test. Now, by contrast, my emotions felt raw and untamed. Had everything I'd experienced today knocked me so far off kilter, or was it something else? Intellectually I knew switching bodies could influence my emotions. Human biology was something my military-oriented course load had barely touched on, but I knew there were hormones that could affect mood and behavior. Still, it was hard to stomach that that such a thing alone could affect my mind so much. Then again, I likely didn't even have the same brain anymore, so all bets were off.

I mused on that for a moment, unsettled. I didn't much like myself, but even so the thought of having pieces of what made me 'me' carved away without me knowing left me terrified. But maybe I was thinking about this the wrong way. Perhaps pieces hadn't been taken away, but instead added. It could be that Taylor wasn't all gone after all. Perhaps that was why I felt like screaming when the car rolled to a stop and a bag was thrown over my head.

The magnetic clamp released me and the titanium seat belt undone, the foam around my feet dissolving messily moments later, but I still felt uncomfortably fettered. One of the PRT team tried to coax me to my feet but I didn't comply. If they were going to tug me around like a dog, blind and with only one working leg, then I was done helping them. If they wanted to move me somewhere in these ridiculously heavy arm restraints then they could damn well carry me. I didn't respond or even truly hear them as they spoke gruffly to me. I was too busy holding my body back from entering a panic attack.

Carry me they did, at least three hundred steps and four doors before plopping me in a sturdy metal chair. Once again my restraints clamped in place magnetically, followed again by a ridiculously heavy titanium chain across my lap. Just when I thought it might be best to finally give in and scream, the black bag was taken off my head. And, as if this world hadn't proved strange enough already, was confronted with a woman in a mask.

End 1.5

Just a short snip this time. Decided to write the second half of the scene as an interlude to avoid complaints of PRT unfairness. Btw, the anon reviewer that commented about russo-paranoia, please turn your brain on before commenting. Also your country's economy is currently collapsing, so have a nice day.


	6. Chapter 6

Interlude 1

Paula went over the notes for a third time, frowning at the lack of information. Not that it was an unusual state of affairs by any means. This was the fourth time she'd been selected for a parahuman pre-interview and she was no less nervous than the first time, and no more informed about the subject. There was always a great deal of uncertainty when meeting with a parahuman, even more for the type she was selected deal with. Newly triggered or relatively unknown thinkers, masters, and strangers were her gig, and what a gig it was.

Normally, parahumans brought in for questioning or recruitment were met with heroes from the Protectorate or trained interrogators from the PRT, but parahumans with the potential to unduly influence the human psyche got special treatment. For the hefty sum of fifty thousand per session and a hefty insurance policy Paula was the designated sacrificial lamb. The definition of expendable, Paula would suss out the intentions of the parahuman and if possible their powers. And, if her brain got scrambled, the PRT and Protectorate would do what they could to piece her back together. So far she'd gotten lucky, and if she was careful then hopefully she'd stay that way.

Paula stiffened as the door opened, troopers filing in with the suspect in tow. Hurried she scratched under her borrowed black domino mask, hoping scratching now meant not scratching later. She wondered how capes managed it all the time. Silly and uncomfortable, that was masks to a 't.' Unfortunately taking it off was out of the question. Not only did it help prevent the suspect from tracking her down if they were returned to the street, supposedly parahumans responded better in interrogations if they thought they were talking to one of their own.

Following standard MST(Master/Stranger/Thinker) protocol the troopers all had their helmets whited-out, not making a sound unless it was through their integrated headsets as they belted the prisoner into place. Paula cocked her head slightly as the troopers pulled the bag off the girls head, eyes shut against the harsh halogen lights. She wasn't a particularly impressive sight. She looked bony more than anything else. Fifteen, and closer in appearance to waif than young woman. Ill-health marred whatever beauty she might have had, but that wasn't all. There was something almost mannish about the way the way she held herself that could not all be explained away by the absurd trench coat she was wearing for reasons unknowable.

Then Taylor's eyes opened and Paula was forced to reconsider everything. There was something wrong about this girl, something deeply unnatural. No girl's eyes should look like that. There was a weight to them, a physical force that seemed to pierce the soul. There was eternity in her eyes, a knowledge of things no human should know.

Paula shifted in her seat, forcing her eyes down to the pages in front of her as she tried to cast off her foolish superstitions. This girl was almost certainly less dangerous than a couple of the parahumans she'd interviewed previously. Not that meant Taylor was a saint by any means. Based on video that Paula had yet to see, Dragon had determined that the suspect was likely a Thinker and possibly a low-level Brute or Mover. Apparently only a split-second use of her power had saved Shadow Stalker from suffering a fatal wound in her civilian persona. Public Relations would have quite a day ahead of them making sure Shadow Stalker's identity didn't become widely known.

While the attempted homicide was worrisome, the power projections were a comfort to Paula. As nothing more than a low-level brute the girl presented little physical threat. It was doubtful Taylor could break free from the restraints, and even if she could, the whole room would swiftly flood with containment foam capable of restraining up to level six brutes in the right conditions. The Thinker rating was actually more worrisome, but then again it was what she'd signed up for. Besides, while a Master could make you stop breathing and a Stranger could make you think you were a puppy, Thinkers generally needed time and information in order to mind-&*$% you. The possibility of a secondary Brute or Mover was actually a godsend in this respect, as it meant Taylor's primary ability of Thinker was unlikely to be top tier.

Confidence restored, Paula tapped her papers back into a neat pile and started things going. First came the Miranda warning, followed by a few addendums relating to parahumans, and at the end she came to the Youth Guard-mandated advisements. "Do you wish your parent or guardian to be here before we proceed?" Paula forced herself to meet the homicidal teen's eyes after asking the question, searching for some hints of her character that might aid during the interview. It was unlikely that she herself would be able to do anything meaningful with the information, but her impressions could potentially help a more seasoned interrogator down the line if things went poorly with the teen.

Taylor appeared to consider the question for a moment, but if there was any unease in her at being in an unfamiliar place with no one in her corner then Paula couldn't see it. "No," said Taylor, "that won't be necessary."

Wonderful. "Are you-"

"But there is something else I'd like." The girl brushed back her hair, a faintly annoyed expression on her face. Oddly she seemed more annoyed with her hair than she was at being chained to a chair. "My wounds have yet to be properly cleaned. Antibiotics would likewise be appreciated."

Paula held back a sigh. As far as she could see there wasn't a mark on the girl, though admittedly the trench coat hid a great deal. "If you cooperate I'll see what I can do."

"That's rather far from good hospitality – or a promise, for that matter." Taylor interrupted her before she could reply. "Don't worry, this is about what I expected. Feel free to continue your questions."

Unsettled but without a viable alternative, that was exactly what she did. "Are you aware that you're suspected of the crime of using parahuman abilities against humanity? One Sophia Hess, in particular?"

"Hmm. That sounds serious."

Paula held back a scowl at the flippant tone of the teenager. "It is serious. But if you cooperate and agree to join the Wards you'll be able to get your life back on track. Obviously there will be a probationary period and perhaps some community service, but it will mean no juvie – or worse, if Sophia Hess were to die from the injuries you caused her."

Taylor blinked. "Joining the Wards, what might that entail?"

"Nothing too onerous, and the benefits are substantial as well. You'd be required to attend several public relations events yearly, as well as attend twice-weekly patrols of Gotham with experienced Protectorate superheroes. Two nights a week you'll also be required to attend practice sessions either with the other Wards or your appointed mentor." Paula noticed the girl didn't seem disinterested, hopefully the dull nature of the last task wouldn't dissuade them. "Last of all there's a mandatory two hour class each week on cape theory, history, current events, and law. So long s you meet all these requirements you'll be provided with a generous scholarship towards a college of your choice, as well as a guaranteed position in the Protectorate on your eighteenth birthday."

"I think I'll pass."

The answer caught Paula by surprise. She'd been sure she had the girl hook line and sinker. "Don't you understand what's at stake here? What you have to lose?"

Taylor laughed. "On the contrary, hardly anything is at stake. For the first time in my life I finally feel free."

"I urge you to reconsider."

"There's nothing to consider in the first place," countered Taylor. "You've mistaken me for something I'm not. To my knowledge I'm not a parahuman, nor do I possess any powers. But feel free to enlighten me if I am wrong."

No powers? Paula had been off balance from the start of the interview, but now she'd completely lost her footing. Was it possible that the girl was telling the truth? There were cases of humans being improperly classified as parahumans, like that boy in Utah that appeared to light his hand on fire using ethanol and water, but mistakes like that were few and far between. "Would you be willing to take a test to prove that? We have an MRI machine on site."

"Magnetic resonance imaging?" asked Taylor.

"Yes, that's right."

"Fire away."

*** Piggot's Office

It had been a thoroughly unpleasant day for Director Piggot. She'd already been drafting the paperwork on Sophia's breach of her probation when news of Taylor Hebert arrived. She had hoped to divest herself of one psychopath and replace her with a perhaps more malleable one, but it seemed that wouldn't be possible. While the girl did have a corona pollentia, she lacked the signifying characteristic of a parahuman – the corona gemma. Moreover, it seemed she was likely incapable of ever triggering. For some strange reason her corona pollentia appeared charred. The best guess from the eggheads was that she'd somehow tapped into a superpower for a few minutes but in doing so burned away her chance for a permanent power. The case would be reviewed in six months if a researcher could be spared, but in all likelihood the girl would be a run-of-the-mill human for the rest of her life.

As a result, Piggot's plan to use Taylor as a pinch hitter was bust. Simply dismissing Shadow Stalker without a replacement was similarly impossible. With the state of Gotham so precarious, losing a "hero" at this time was simply impossible. Resources from the State and Federal Government were dwindling, and the only viable choice was to make do with what they had. Even if that meant letting a sociopath run free.

Piggot wished Taylor luck, ashamed of herself for making a human suffer for the sake of a parahuman. If there was any other way... but there wasn't. For the good of the people of Gotham, it had to be done. The evidence against Shadow Stalker would be buried, and a bullied girl would be painted as insane.

End Interlude 1

A/N So apparently I hate my readers enough to do a multicross. The reasons for this vary, from the ease of typing Gotham as compared to Brockton Bay, to my desire to kill various heroes in DC.


	7. Chapter 7

It's curious. A small bit of hate is immensely discouraging. A large amount of hate for no particularly good reason on the other hand is strangely invigorating.

Note – Changed Taylor's birthday by a few months.

2.1 Taylor Wiggin

The court case passed with surprising quickness. After finally convincing my appointed public defender that I did not in fact want to plead insanity he proceeded to lose the case in spectacular fashion. I wasn't familiar with law and thought at first it might just be incompetence. After all, I'd spent much of my life surrounded solely by geniuses culled from every nation on Earth. But no, I was certain by the end that he was losing deliberately. Considering the effect that would presumably have on his career I could only assume that either he or his superior had been paid off for some reason or another. Added to his efforts I found the media smear campaign against me to be rather gratuitous.

Harvey Dent on the other hand was a true maestro. I had little knowledge of his official craft, but I knew a great deal about how to influence people, how to inflame or cool their passions. Harvey showed me that I still had things to learn. He played the jury like a fiddle, every syllable off his silver tongue spoken at just the right time and in the right way to capture their hearts and minds. It was a shame he wasn't on my side.

His body language was similarly tailored to maximum effect. That was an area in which I knew I was lacking. I'd commanded armies, but my own body I'd given little thought to. My lack of mastery over that particular area during my time as fleet admiral was understandable given my age and still changing body, but I suspected it was more than that. There was so little time for anything at the end for anything save the "simulator." Improving my body and my mastery of it had placed far down on my list of priorities. Harvey Dent though, he had turned persuasion into something so close to brainwashing it was frightening.

It was strange to find such a man in a court of law. In my own era, on my own Earth, someone with his talent would have likely headed a starship if he had any military talent, or failing that found a high position in government. Instead he commanded the court room, driving any chance I had at freedom into the ground. The discovery that the castrated boy in the showers was also my handiwork sealed my fate in that respect. Tried as an adult and sentenced to life without parole, I soon found myself delivered not to juvenile hall but instead a medium-security women's prison.

The prison wasn't as bad as I expected considering how loathsome the non-criminals of this world had been so far. The non-violent offenders were wary of me, and the more hard-bitten criminals were far more approving of my actions than the jury had been. There were a few who were less inclined to leave me alone, both among the criminals and guards, but for the time being they were content to wait and see if I matched up to my reputation. I was equally content to ignore them until their fancies showed signs of becoming more than daydreams.

A civilian probably wouldn't understand it, but after so much time spent in space under the influence of the International Fleet the return to structure was almost comforting. The prison had rules and procedure very reminiscent of Battle School. I missed the null-grav of the battle room, but the prison had its own attractions. The half hour spent in the yard wasn't much to most of the prisoners, but it was infinitely more sunlight than I'd ever experienced on Eros. Even in the January chill it was wondrous to just lay back and feel the sun and wind against my skin. I felt alive again. Despite the walls that caged my body, my soul was free. No longer did the extinction of the human race hang over my head if I failed to to be the best. At last, I could simply _be_.

Beyond peace of mind, prison turned out to be good for my physical health as well. Prison food, while bland and overcooked, was certainly no worse than space food. I'd been too stressed to eat properly in my final days on Eros but the relative peace of this new Earth and the ravages of teenage hunger had led me to eat often and well. It took only a few weeks before I nearly looked like another person entirely from when I'd exited the locker. Too-thin limbs were replaced with toned muscle, hollows in my cheeks and around my eyes slowing filling in. A fair portion of the weight had gone not to muscles but to my chest, a fact that filled me with strange glee when I was issued a larger bra a few weeks into my stay. Upon feeling the unexpected emotion I once again wondered just how much of Taylor endured inside my mind.

Time had healed my body's wounds even as it healed my soul. Bruises had faded to reveal smooth, subtly tanned skin. Even the cuts sustained in the locker had miraculously healed without any trace of scarring. All in all it felt like I had at last been truly reborn. The initial shift had been from the low point of my own life to the low point of Taylor's, but I felt as if I'd moved past those events to a degree and found a new life to live. My first period was admittedly mildly distressing, but banter from the other prisoners had prepared me for it to some degree. It passed swiftly enough and in balance it was a small price to pay for a second chance.

While I was more content with my situation than I'd been in a long time, it was not wholly without issue. Boredom was the greatest issue. I fought it as best I could, but the prison library's lending limit of one book per day meant reading occupied an hour of my time at best. Martial arts were a little better in filling up the long hours spent in my cell. My classes in self-defense had given me a groundwork to create my own style of Martial Arts that was suited to my new body. I had no desire to harm anyone with it, but I'd been attacked more than once in this world and I suspected that it wouldn't be long before I was attacked again.

The development of my own brand of self-defense was slow going, but ultimately martial arts were just massively complex applications of physics, biology, and strategy. Familiar with two of the three fields already, various medical texts procured from the library quickly educated me on the third. From there all that remained was an application of the scientific method.

While some time was spent learning biology and the mysteries of the human body, most of my library selections concerned history. The prison unfortunately hadn't stocked the shelves with anything recent, but there was a handful of books concerning the rise of superheroes. It was hard to believe they weren't pure fantasy, but everything pointed to this being a world where actual superheroes existed. As far as I could tell, the major divergence point between this world and that of my birth was the emergence of Scion as the first parahuman. There were a few other historical differences during the second half of the 20th century but for the most part they appeared to be cosmetic, one name switched with another but the same events and discoveries occurring.

Curiosity as to how the world might have changed following the parahuman population explosion nagged at me endlessly but there was little I could do to satisfy it with the materials at hand. My reliance on the net was never more apparent than now that I'd been deprived of it utterly. There was a growing certainty that I would have to leave the sanctuary of prison long before the end of my life sentence if I wanted to remain sane. Peace was enough for awhile, but as my mind and spirit recharged from the trials I'd undergone my desire for freedom grew ever greater. Soon I would switch from studying history to studying law, but I suspected it would take more than rational arguments to escape a life sentence.

It would still be a while before boredom forced me to do anything drastic. There were still plenty of mysteries waiting to be solved in prison before my stockpile of distractions ran dry. Top of the list was curious behavior of ants in this world. If I stayed in one spot for more than a few minutes then some of them would inevitably start investigating my feet, though never stinging or biting. Black ants in particular never failed to circle around me at least once before continuing on their path. Inexplicably the ants seemed less aggressively inquisitive towards everyone else, but it could be an error of observation. Given the small size of ants and the taboo against staring towards fellow inmates or guards my research into the matter was far from expansive. Still, the behavior of the ants was an intriguing mystery and I had nothing better to do.


	8. Chapter 8

2.2 Start

It was getting worse. It had started off small, just tiny predictions of what those around me would say a tenth of a second before they said it. But trapped in an area with so few people, it didn't take long before a tenth of a second became a half, and it only grew from there. It wasn't just words. I could predict expressions, mood swings, nervous gestures; all of it was revealed in my minds eye.

My siblings had similar knacks. Peter could see what a person feared and what they hated about theirself. Valentine, on the other hand, could see what a person valued most, and what they loved about theirself. My own ability was far slower, but far more complete. Given time and study, the barrier in my mind between myself and those around me began to break down. In most cases it wasn't the result of conscious action, but nonetheless it was as if copies of those around me were placed in my mind. Not quite sentient, they were incredibly sophisticated puppets, playing out simulations of what was, is, and could be. In dreams they felt even more real. At times I even lost myself amongst them, wearing masks of other people and forgetting who I really was for a time. But then I would wake, and the horror of it all returned.

Valentine and Peter thought their knacks a sort of gift, but for me it was always a curse. The temptation to wear the personalities of others in order to ward off my own pain was always a dark temptation, but worse than that was the potential for manipulation. Peter thought it great fun to bend the world to his will, but I took no pleasure in the secondary 'gift' my ability granted me. For from the ability to understand the people around me and predict their future actions came the ability to bend the them to my will.

It went far beyond the simple leadership qualities that had led the International Fleet to pick me as the so-called savior of the human race, and ventured into something dark and terrible. It would be so damnably easy now to escape the prison. I knew the words, gestures, and subtle manipulations that would lead to my freedom. Guards and prisoners both would be my tools; some twisted to my will or simply bought, others fanned into a riot or persuaded by their compassion to look the other way. Worst was my roommate. Adriana was a fragile girl of nineteen, and burning my soul was the knowledge that it would only take twelve words and a thumb swept along her cheek to convince her to commit suicide. It was the first step in a twelve-part plan offering the surest chance of escape.

I wished I could forget, could burn every part of the plan from my mind. I had sins enough with exterminating the Formics and killing those two children, I had no need nor want for more. If I were to travel down that road, manipulating people for my own purposes like some malicious Greek god then the last barrier between myself and Peter would evaporate. Any excuse I had to necessity or good intentions guiding my hand during my past mistakes would be rendered null, and like Peter I would be wholly a soulless monster guised in human flesh. And so instead of pressing to escape I continued to endure my incarceration, hoping I would eventually find a legal way to be released.

A clatter against the bars of my cell disturbed my reading. It was an unexpected yet uplifting experience. Unpredicted events were becoming rarer and rarer these days. Raising my eyes from a text on String theory I turned over to face the guard. "You have a visitor," said Shelly. Shelly wasn't the nicest of the prison crew, but she was fair. Not wanting to get on her bad side I swiftly rose to my feet and held out my hands through the bars to be cuffed. Keeping my mouth firmly shut to prevent idle sass I filed in beside her after she opened the cell. Adriana wished me luck as I left.

My caller was a mystery. I'd anticipated visitors early in my stay. Family perhaps, or a lawyer come to overturn the fantastically stacked trial, maybe even the castrated boy's parents come to tell me to burn in Hell, but no one ever came. As far as I could surmise, no one in this world had anything at all to say to Taylor Herbert. So who was it then that after nearly six weeks wait had come to see her? Considering the guard hadn't informed me of who was coming it was most likely a parent or legal guardian or some sort of official that could compel my attendance without my say-so.

Soon enough I was placed at a plain gray table reminiscent of my time with the PRT. No tinker-tech handcuffs weighing me down this time though, just normal steel ones. All in all it was a far more friendly environment, despite the guards in the corners. I wasn't the only one in the room waiting to meet with a visitor, but somehow when he entered I knew he was here for me. Despite never meeting him before, his tall but thin frame, dark balding hair, and clunky glasses all felt strangely familiar to me. Another remnant of Taylor bubbling up? This was likely her father then. It would explain the tinge of affection I felt for the man. Strangely though there was a hint of wariness as well.

"Taylor," he said brightly, moving in for a hug. I obliged him stiffly, though I pulled back after a few seconds to avoid the guards taking issue with it. Awkwardly we took our seats under the watchful eyes of the guards. "How are you doing? Are you being treated okay?"

"I'm fine." Outwardly I was calm, but inside I was tossing and turning with emotions not my own. Relief and apprehension suffused me in equal portion.

"I've been talking to Alan Barnes." My chest tightened the name but I shrugged it off as he continued to speak. "He's not a criminal defense lawyer but he has some contacts. It's been slow going but I think I can get your sentence reduced, maybe move you to a minimum security prison where you can continue your education. I may have to take out a second mortgage but I'll get you out of here."

It was strange he didn't ask me if I'd done what I accused of, or why. Was the evidence against me that was available to the public truly so damning? "Don't hire a lawyer," I said at last. "Not yet at least. I have a feeling they'd have more luck if we waited a few months for things to cool down." I'd hate the wait, but it was the logical course.

His brows furrowed. "Don't you want to get out of here? If you're mad at me just say it. I should have been here for you sooner. I went to your school to try and find out what happened but I got tossed in a holding cell for causing a disruption. By the time I got out the trial was already over and the overtime I had to work for the days I missed meant I couldn't get here during visiting hours until now."

I wondered if that was true, or if he just hadn't wanted to confront his criminal daughter. It didn't particularly matter to me one way or another. "I'm not mad at you, I just think it would be better to wait a little while before doing anything drastic like taking out another mortgage." He seemed troubled by the answer. Or was it instead my manner of speaking that bothered him? This was the first time I'd talked to someone who knew Taylor before I took over. It was more than likely I was doing a bad impression. For all I knew she was a stutterer, or spoke with some sort of accent. Or perhaps it was something more simple, like not calling him Father. He could be an uncle or something, but that felt less right to me. Still, I was loathe to call a stranger Dad or something of the like. A last resort then.

"I see." He pulled a pair of glasses and a decorative card from his pocket. "Emma signed the card as well." Another flash of conflicting emotion struck me. "I know it's a little late, but happy birthday kiddo. I couldn't find your glasses or your spares, but I bought you some new ones. Go ahead, try them out. Hopefully the prescription is still right."

Glasses? As far as I could tell, this body's vision was as good as that of my last, perhaps better. Nonetheless I obliged him, glasses blurring my sight significantly until I removed them. "They're perfect."

"Why are you acting like this?" His features twisted and I began to worry, though whether it was for him or of him I could not say. Taylor's lingering emotions towards the man were clouding my ability to read him. "I'm sorry I haven't been there for you of late. Maybe this was all my fault. If your mother was still here..." Something wasn't right. There was danger here, from this man I thought my father. "Say something!" he shouted. Swifter than I thought possible of him he lifted from his seat, leaning over the table to grip my shoulder fiercely. "Act as if you are still my daughter!"

Suddenly he recoiled just before being hit by a guard from behind. Swiftly they had him subdued on the floor. I realized I was shaking from the encounter, a tear running down my cheek. Taylor's influence again, I knew. _'If you can hear me Taylor, I am truly sorry. I seem to only bring you pain and ill fortune.'_

Something nagged at me. There was an inconsistency in what had just occurred. Why had he drawn back from me a half second before the guard struck him? It hadn't looked as if he'd suddenly regained his reason, it had almost looked like a sudden spike of pain had distracted him. Some preexisting injury or illness? _'Oh.'_ The answer came in the form of a trail of black ants running down the man's sock. I was nearly certain that at least a few of them must have bitten him. Coincidence? Or was it possible they'd tried to protect me? No, it couldn't be that. But then again, in a world where superheroes existed it was a possibility that had to be investigated.

2.2 End

Didn't edit this one and wrote part of it while watching The Hobbit. Hopefully not too many typos.


End file.
